


Reflection

by winsister91



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confession, flangst, plus sized reader, self degradation, themes of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:25:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winsister91/pseuds/winsister91
Summary: Submission on Tumblr for @sunskittlex's "One Prompt for All" challenge. The Prompt was “I know you. And you’re better than this.”Combined with an anonymous request: "Do you think you could do a deanxreader fic where she is really depressed, but never shows it? Also, she isn't exactly skinny nor Dean's type and is extremely self-conscious? Yea...Thanx."





	Reflection

All you can see is that pair of glazed over opal eyes. The long flowing locks of golden blonde hair that was once so full of life. The forever fixed gaze of confusion and fear. The young and vibrant innocent life that was lost because of you. Because you were too late. **  
**

Saving people, hunting things. Yet the latter part of the statement is the one that forever remained strongest. You had saved people, sure, but countless had also been lost. Not to mention those you didn’t even know about. How many lives had been stolen by vile, pieces of shit creatures because you hadn’t found the case yet?

All this shit you fight through, is it even worth it in the grand scheme of things?

Do you actually make a difference? Do you cause even a minor ripple in the ocean of poison this world is comprised of?

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice echoes in your mind, bringing you out of your thoughts, “Earth to Y/N?”

“Earth, this is Y/N back online,” you blink rapidly and force a smile.

“Your song’s on,” he narrows his eyes, glancing at you briefly from the Impala’s steering wheel.

Your ears tune to the familiar melodies of _Queen’s, The Show Must Go On_.

“Nice,”  you smile again.

“Nice?” Dean sounds slightly taken aback, “Where’s the ‘this is the greatest song ever written’ rant?”

You can feel Dean’s eyes looking back over to you sporadically. You’ve gotta fight through this, fake it until you make it. The Winchesters have enough on their plate without having to worry about your frame of mind too.

“Hey,” you dig up some false positivity in your voice, “How long 'til we get back to the bunker?”

“Uh…” Dean squints in thought, “Maybe about five hours or so?”

“Screw that,” you scoff, “It’s already getting late, and I need a comfy chair, a pool table and copious amounts of _beer_.”

“That’s my kind of talking,” Dean nods, “Next town we reach, we’ll pull in for the night. You gonna message Sam that we won’t be back until tomorrow?”

“Already on it,” you click away on your phone before grabbing a cold one from the cooler on the back seat.

“Starting already eh?” he titters, watching you tear into the can hungrily.

“No time like the present!” you stick out your tongue before draining the can of it’s bitter, frothy contents and reaching back to the cooler for a second.

* * *

 

You were already five or six beers down before you were in a motel room getting ready to find a bar somewhere. Dean was in the bathroom taking a shower. Your head was starting to feel light, your footing showing signs of shakiness, your heart dropping to the pit of your guts.

The beer wasn’t having the desired effect. You weren’t numbing. Your thoughts weren’t quieting down. That girl’s face was still firmly in your mind.

Drinking deeply from yet another can, you clenched your eyes painfully before stepping in front of the mirror. A black dress hugged at your curves, flowing down to your kneecaps. You stared. Looking at the emotionless face glaring back at you. The material of the dress stretched across your belly, you could see a bulge just below where the bottom of your bra gripped at your side. Your legs looked pale, having barely ever seen sunlight or come into contact with the outside world. You weren’t sure why you bought this damn rag a few weeks back. To make yourself feel better? Try and boost your confidence? All it did at this moment in time was spur anger. Your arms were scarred and grazed, legs bruised and battered. You could see your left eye starting to swell and blacken from the events of the hunt earlier that night. You’d managed to cover the developing purple on the swollen area with some well-placed make-up, but it all still looked painfully obvious to you. This was all a waste of time and effort.

“Whoa…” Dean’s voice filled the room.

You spun on your heels, seeing him stood in the bathroom doorway as he looked you up and down.

“That was a quick shower…” you mumbled, reaching for your bag to change back to a trusty t-shirt and jeans combo.

“Just needed to grab my razor,” he went for his own bag and rummaged inside, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before Y/N.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you scoff.

“Why?” he folds his arms, raising an eyebrow, “You look great.”

You don’t answer, eyes fixated on your bag as you searched inside.

“Y/N what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just wanna get out of here.”

“Oh, well _I’m convinced._ I’ll be five minutes and I vote, keep the dress.”

You don’t answer again, pulling out a pair of black jeans and now searching for a top. Dean narrows his eyes with concern before vanishing back into the bathroom.

On his way back out, Dean stops in his tracks, eyes widening at the scene before him. Clothes scattered around the room and you sat on the bed in your PJs, knees drawn up to your chest, arms resting on them and your chin buried in them. Another beer hangs loosely in one of your hands as your eyes stare blankly into space, not even acknowledging the Winchester.

“Y/N what the hell?” he blurts out in confusion, “What’s gotten into you? There’s been something off all night.”

“I can’t go,” you mumble, eyes still fixated on the same spot.

“What do you mean you can’t go?” Dean approaches the bed and sits on the edge next to you, “What’s going on in there?”

He playfully taps you on the head with that statement, but it gains next to no response from you.

After a pause, he tilts his head to catch something he saw in the corner of his eye. Numerous empty bottles of beer. He was temporarily impressed at the rate you were flying through the drinks.

“You know,” he chuckles, “A bar is a damn cheaper than overpriced hotel beer. Why the change of heart? It was your idea in the first place.”

“Sorry…” you mumble again, a slight croak in the back of your voice.

“Y/N…” he pushes but in a slow calming tone, he reaches a finger under your chin and lifts your head so you’re looking him in the eyes, “It’s me, talk to me.”

Your heart actually aches at his words. Stirring up feelings within you that you often kept locked away because the whole idea of…that, was just ludicrous to you.

Swallowing a deep breath, you decided to lower your defenses for once.

“Have I ever told you what I see when I look in the mirror Dean?” you finally ask quietly.

He leans back against the headboard and beckons you to continue with his eyes.

“I see the girl at school that was bullied, the girl that’s never had guys trying to pick her up at the bar, the girl that looks like a god damn _fat piece of shit_ no matter _what_ clothes she puts on,” your voice grows in anger as you speak and Dean notes that.

“ _Interesting_ ,” Dean purses his lips and leans down to your shoulder. You couldn’t take your eyes off a mirror hung up on the opposing wall, which he now glanced at with you, “because that’s not what I see.”

“Need to get your damn eyes tested then,” you scoff, voice shaking after your heart had just jumped into your throat, “When I started hunting with my Dad, it gave me something I could be confident about. Made me feel worthwhile because I’m saving people and let’s face it, it’s pretty _badass_.”

You smile briefly, eyes looking up as the nostalgia washed over you and took you away for a moment. You come back down and meet Dean’s glance. He is also smiling, nodding with approval.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he laughs in partial agreement.

“But _now_ …reality is hitting me at long last. The number of people that have been lost because I wasn’t strong enough or fast enough. People that could still be alive now if I just…If I was _better_.”

“This is about that girl today isn’t it?”

“I saw the ghost going for her Dean,” you start to sob, “But I couldn’t get to her in time. I was physically unable to save her. If it was you or Sammy in my place, she’d still be alive now.”

“Y/N you can’t blame yourself. Believe me, I am the damn _king_ of blaming myself for shit. The unfortunate truth is that…as much as it hurts and it makes by god damn piss boil, we just can’t save them all. But we keep fighting because we have too.”

“Well, that’s just it isn’t it? We really _can’t_ save them all. There’s probably someone out there right now, getting killed by some fucking monster, and we can’t stop it ‘cause there are no leads. People have gotta  _die_  so we know there’s a case! Is there even any point in us doing it? I can’t exactly stop either because that goes against why I’m upset in the first place.”

“I know…” Dean says seriously, his green gems focused directly on your eyes, “I really do. But, you’ve got to stop and think about when we’ve won. We’ve danced with Archangels, Knights of Hell, Leviathans,  _freaking Lucifer and God’s sister_. We _do_ make a difference, and we gotta keep doing what we’re doing so we’re there for the next big son of a bitch.”

“I…” you stutter and sniffle looking back to the mirror at your reflection, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this. I just feel like I’m not good enough.”

“Y/N, you are good,” Dean says reassuringly, “ _Better_  than good. You’re just overwhelmed and could maybe do with a day off or hell, a freaking month maybe.”

“Time off where more people could die because I can’t save them,” you retort, more tears building in your eyes.

“Stop it,” Dean says firmly,  **“I know you. And you’re better than this.”**

“Am I?” you question, “Dean this isn’t just something I’ve felt for a few weeks. It’s _years_ , and it’s draining me.”

Another silence fills the room as Dean lowers his head to processes that. Your tears flow freely as you close your eyes and fail to bite them back.

Before you can open them again, you feel a warmth spread across your back as Dean’s arms wrap around it and pull you in for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “Sammy and I should have been there for you more.”

“Dean…” you sigh, heart thumping, “You have both _always_ been there for me. I just…never said anything. How were you to know?”

“Promise me something okay?” He pulls his arms back and focuses his eyes on yours once more, “‘cause if you _do_ decide you want to take a break or maybe…stop hunting, I won’t stop you. It’d stop me worrying about something happening to you if anything. Just… promise me you’ll stay with us?”

“At the bunker?”

“Yeah. You know, it’s home and I… it would feel empty without you there.”

“I-” you stutter again, the look on face close to breaking you, “I’d never leave, Dean.  _Ever._ ”

He sighs lightly with relief and you both sit in silence. Your tears had stopped, but your confusion combined with lightheadedness and alcohol make your breaths come in short gasps.

Trying to cut the tension quickly you mumble, “I’m sorry Dean. I shouldn’t have buried all this and then drop it all on you.”

“It’s all right,” Dean wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in again, planting a small kiss on your head like he always did, every time it caused an eruption of butterflies to attack your gut, “You can always talk to me, you need to know that.”

“I do,” you allow yourself to lean into him nervously and lean your head onto his chest.

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?” Dean asks, a small smile playing at his lips, “You didn’t give me chance to say earlier.”

“Uh…”

“I’ll tell ya anyway,” he doesn’t give you the opportunity to answer turning to look back at the mirror and watching your reflections, “I see this chick that exploded onto the scene and changed me and brother’s lives forever. She’s smart, funny, and has  _awesome_  taste in music. She’s caring, loves swinging a machete and is also freaking badass.”

He smirks at you and your heart does its fifth somersault.

“And another thing, “he continues, “when she turned up, I thought I was broken. I thought I was a pro at this kinda stuff but, there’s just something about her, after all these years I still haven’t managed to grow the balls to tell her how I really feel. She’s just… so beautiful and amazing. I never want her out of my life.”

His words struck you almost like mighty blows. Your head is so light and dizzy and you are just left stunned, unable to move or pinch yourself or even speak.

You could see his reflection turning to look down at you, and you suddenly find the ability to move again as you turn to meet his glance.

“I love you, Y/N.”

**Author's Note:**

> Angst heavy? Maybe. Even I love some angst from time to time.


End file.
